Murder in Stained Glass. Armstrong Margaret

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СКАЧАТЬ a fool question.” He turned to Clarence. “Go get me a box, boy. A good stout box with a cover to it. I’ve got to take all this stuff to my office. I haven’t got the proper apparatus here.”

      Clarence ran upstairs and returned with a cardboard box and a ball of twine.

      The doctor stooped, gathered up the largest bits of bone and some of the ashes, placed them carefully in the box and fitted on the lid. Clarence wound a length of twine around it and knotted it tight. The doctor took the box under his arm and paused, glancing at Leo who still sat hunched on the stairs and at Sam’s round face, then addressed himself to Mr. Merritt.

      “You’d better take charge here, Merritt,” he said. “See that everything is locked up securely. I’ll send my report to you, first thing in the morning.” And with a nod in the direction of Phyllis and me, he moved to the door, opened it and immediately slammed it shut again.

      “Sam!” he called over his shoulder. Sam stepped up. “Go ahead of me, clear off all those damn fools out there.”

      Sam obeyed. The doctor walked, rather shakily, I thought, down the path and out into the darkness. Sam rejoined us.

      Mr. Merritt looked at his watch.

      “Supper time,” he said briskly. “No more to do here for the present. What do you say, Sam? Shall we go home?”

      “I guess so. But it’s up to you, Mr. Merritt. This business is too big for me to handle. You better take charge like Doc said. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

      “Well, first off, you got to lock up here good and tight so’s the curiosity seekers and the souvenir hunters don’t get in and mess things up, destroy clues and what not. And I’ll undertake to notify the authorities at Banbury. Just as soon, that is, as I get Doctor’s report. He might change his mind when he puts the microscope onto those bones, and Banbury would have the laugh on us if we brought their high muckamucks over here and the deceased turned out to be a dog or a calf.”

      “They sure would,” Sam grinned. “Mr. Leo, can I have the keys?”

      “Keys?” Leo stood up. “Keys? Have we got a key to the front door, Clarence?”

      “Never’s been one in my time, Mr. Leo. Mr. Ullathorne, he might have a key.”

      “Mr. Ullathorne?” Mr. Merritt said. “Where is Mr. Ullathorne, by the way?”

      “In New York,” Clarence answered. “Went last week and ain’t back yet.”

      “He’d ought to be here,” Mr. Merritt went on. “Will you call your father up, Mr. Leo? Or shall I?”

      “I—I’d rather you did.”

      “All right.” Mr. Merritt looked surprised. “What’s his address?”

      “Five hundred and ten Park Avenue. The telephone number is Regent 5-5478.”

      “O.K.” Mr. Merritt nodded and wrote the number on his cuff. “Now about locking up here. You say there’s no key to the front door. Don’t you lock it at night?”

      “No, we don’t. The door at the head of the stairs is usually locked, but there’s nothing of any value down here.”

      “I see. So anyone could get in here who had a mind to?”

      “Of course.”

      “But not upstairs?”

      “Well, as a matter of fact, we’re not very careful about the workroom door either. The door of my—my father’s studio is the only one he—he was particular about. That door has two keys. My—my father and I each have one.”

      “Who was responsible for locking the door at the top of the stairs?”

      “Whoever was here last, Clarence usually. We have several keys.”

      “How many?”

      “Three or four. My—my father and I each have one, of course, and Clarence, and Jake Murphy—he’s our head man. That’s all, I think.”

      “Seems sort of careless to me. However, upstairs don’t matter now. Sam, you go get a couple of stout boards and nail ’em across the front door and tomorrow we’ll see about a key. That all right with you, Mr. Leo?”

      “Yes. You’ll let me know what the doctor says?”

      “Of course. What say we all meet here ‘bout eight tomorrow, and get things sort of straightened out in our minds before the Banbury folks comes nosing in?”

      “All right.”

      “Sam, you be here too, and Clarence. And tell any of Mr. Ullathorne’s men, and anybody else seems like they’d know anything, to come along. Better bring a boy to keep snoopers out. You get me? Well, guess that’s all for tonight. Supper time, folks. Let’s go.”

       III

      Follow faster! All together!

      Search, inquire of every one.

      Speak, inform us, have you seen him?

      Whither is the rascal gone?

      ARISTOPHANES.

      BREAKFAST was pretty sketchy next morning. Phyllis and I were too excited for second cups. But Minnie hovered around, asking questions—luckily, we didn’t have to contend with Charlotte, who was still in seclusion—and it seemed as if we’d never get away.

      But at last we did, and although it wasn’t yet eight o’clock we found quite a lot of people in the road outside the glass shop where Clarence and another boy stood on guard, watching Sam Beers and Leo prying off the boards that had protected the door during the night. Sam had made a thorough job of it, and the nails drew out with horrible protesting squeaks. But at last the door was free. Sam flung it open. The crowd moved forward and would have come surging up the path if Clarence had not held them back. He let Phyllis and me through, and Mr. Merritt and Mrs. Flack, the postmistress—it seemed she was Mr. Ullathorne’s landlady—and the Ullathorne workmen. We all went in and Sam shut the door.

      The place looked surprisingly different by day, not in the least theatrical. That horrible kiln was still there, of course, and ashes were still scattered about; but the sun shining in through the windows seemed to suck out all the mystery. The room looked what it was, a furnace cellar, as dirty and commonplace as any other furnace cellar. Except for one thing. The door at the top of the stairs leading to the workroom was open and a blaze of color from the rose window came pouring down into our faces, as brilliant and dazzling as the light of an autumn sunset.

      I stood looking up—and wondering. Had the door been open when that awful thing happened down here, right here where I stood now? If it had been open, those red and blue and gold stained glass angels and saints would have been spectators of the tragedy!

      They had looked on while some poor creature was murdered, a fire was kindled, evil smelling smoke went up the chimney. They wouldn’t have cared, of course. Just kept on smiling. Life and death don’t exist in the stained glass world.

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